Visor

Upon the crown of everyday wear,
A stiffened brim— the visor— lies,
Guarding eyes from sudden glare
While sun climbs high in English skies.

It shades the brow of cyclists keen,
Of cricketers who wait for pace,
Of walkers strolling through the green
Where mist still clings to leaf and lace.

In metal helmets, steel and bright,
The visor slides, a polished pane,
A whisper‑thin shield against the night
Of sparks that fly in welding’s flame.

Whether cloth or toughened glass,
It bends the light, yet lets us see—
A modest guard, unsurpassed,
In function forged and humility.

So tip your hat, lift your guard,
Let visor’s shade be ever near—
A simple slice of sky‑ward, hard,
That keeps the vision bright and clear.